


a swinging pendulum

by ghostlyAnarchist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bittersweet, Kissing, M/M, Sibling Incest, Time Shenanigans, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlyAnarchist/pseuds/ghostlyAnarchist
Summary: This can't be real.Because Dirk’s back in his old bedroom, back in his lonely tower in the middle of the ocean, and Dave Strider there, standing at the window, tapping on the glass to startle a seagull. It’s not the Dave that he’s come to know during the game and after; not the younger version of a ghost he’d never met. This is another Dave. A different Dave.
Relationships: Dirk's Bro | Alpha Dave Strider/Dirk Strider
Kudos: 18





	a swinging pendulum

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt was "running out of time".

This isn’t real.  
  
It isn’t.  
  
It _can’t_ be.  
  
Because Dirk’s back in his old bedroom, back in his lonely tower in the middle of the ocean, and Dave Strider there, standing at the window, tapping on the glass to startle a seagull. It’s not the Dave that he’s come to know during the game and after; not the younger version of a ghost he’d never met. This is another Dave. A different Dave.   
  
And perhaps one day, Dirk will find himself thinking that there are _too many_ Daves, but not right now.  
  
Because this is _his_ Dave. He feels it. He sees it—in the rumpled suit; in the scruff along his sharp jaw; in the effortless tousle of his hair; in his build and height when he finally turns to stand; hands stuffed in the pockets of his fitted slacks. Polished while remaining ironically unpolished. Dirk has seen this Dave time and time again on his computer screen, in countless reruns of recorded interviews.  
  
This Dave doesn’t belong here.  
  
“Hey, kiddo,” he says, whistling through his teeth. “Wow. Look at you.”  
  
Dirk instinctively looks at his hands, half-expecting them to be semi-corporeal. They’re not. They’re his hands, older and scarred from old strifes, the wear and tear of a hard life evident on his knuckles and nailbeds. When he looks up, Dave is close enough to touch. Dirk can see the scars that confirm his theory. There’s a thin one that cuts through his lip and another through his eyebrow. Rose had given him the latter on accident, according to an article on Wikipedia.  
  
“I hope it didn’t get too lonely out here,” Dave says, smiling sadly like he knows the truth.   
  
It had. It’d been so fucking lonely; he’d copied his own conscious and crammed it in an ironic pair of shades.   
  
Dirk doesn’t say that while realizing that he’s yet to say anything at all.  
  
“How are you here?” He pauses, looking around the familiar room. “How am _I_ here?”  
  
Dave shrugs. “Does it matter?”  
  
“Sort of. I need to know whether or not my actions are going to have repercussions.”  
  
“Alright,” Dave sighs, mumbling something under his breath that sounds a lot like— _Jesus Christ, you sound just like Rose._ He runs a hand through his hair, shaking it loose. “Listen, I’m going to be honest. I don’t know how long I have or where exactly my finger landed on the spinning globe of paradox space. This could be a dream—it feels like a dream, doesn’t it? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Wherever we are, it doesn’t want me here. There’s a kickback already.”  
  
That’s…a lot to take in, and Dirk knows he should be freaking the fuck out. Dave is right in front of him. He’s had countless dreams just like this, but. Something is off, a smidge outside of the norm. He can’t wrap his head around it.  
  
“Sands runnin’ out.” Dave claps his hands and spreads them. “Let’s make the most of it.”  
  
Dirk swallows and mentally says, fuck it. He’ll pretend this is real, even if it hurts him in the end. What can he say? He’s an emotional fucking masochist. Plus, he’s got _so_ many burning questions.  
  
“Okay,” Dave says before he gets the chance to ask a single one. “I’ll start. Did you win?”  
  
“What? Oh, right. Sburb. Shit, that was ages ago.” He pauses. Takes note of Dave’s reaction, or lack thereof. Realizes he didn’t answer the question. “Yeah. We won.”  
  
“Knew you would.” Dave smiles, nods his head, and wipes under the rim of his aviators. “Alright, you got anything for me?”  
  
Yes, Dirk thinks.  
  
 _What would you have done differently?  
  
Was it worth it?  
  
Did you think of me?  
  
Are you proud?  
  
_“Can I tell you something instead?” Dirk asks. His heart beats hard enough to crack his sternum, palms beginning to sweat.  
  
“Shoot, kid.”  
  
“I loved you,” Dirks confesses, “I watched every interview. Watched every movie. I read every line you’d ever written, and every line ever written about you. I felt like I knew—” He snaps his jaw shut, swallowing the waver in his voice. He just needs to get this out. “I loved you so much.”  
  
Dave’s expression goes soft as he reaches out, lightly resting his hand against Dirk’s elbow to pull him into a warm embrace. It feels real; it feels good; and Dirk melts into it, wrapping his arms around Dave’s torso, digging nails into his back to keep himself anchored there. He’d stay forever if he could.  
  
But time is ticking.  
  
Dave doesn’t belong here, and neither does he. He feels it too—the pull of a magnet that tethers him to another reality.   
  
There’s a hand carding through his hair, a mouth moving against the crown of his head.  
  
“I love you too,” Dave mutters. “Glad to see you made it.”  
  
It’s just enough to shatter him; just enough to break his resolve. If this is a dream, if nothing else matters, he’ll do the one thing he’s wanted to since he was old enough to truly want. He pulls back, just enough to rock forward, and presses his lips against Dave’s. It’s warm, hesitant, but Dave doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t exactly kiss back either, but it’s okay. It’s enough.  
  
 _Tick, tock, tick, tock._  
  
Dave opens his mouth and Dirk makes a desperate noise, surging forward to lick in, to get deeper, and—  
  
He sits up to a dark, empty room, framed with the familiar silhouettes of his life on Earth-C.

Time has run out.   
  
  



End file.
